Boba's Escape
by DominicanKing12
Summary: Based on information from both Canon and Legends books. Boba was trapped within the sarlacc and needed to get out. However, the galaxy had changed and so must he.


Boba had gotten himself out of tougher scrapes than this. His "father", Jango Fett, had taught him too well to die like this. "You must always fight to survive, Boba," he would say in his wise and cautious voice. Boba turned on his helmet's sensors and began his search for something to help him escape this monster's stomach. It wouldn't be an easy task due to all the teeth in the sarlacc's mouth; but nothing in his life has been easy up to this point, so why should this?

He looked down and saw his survival knife was still in the pouch covering his right shin. He stretched out his hand and grabbed it. Then, with its serrated edge, he began sawing at the creature's tentacle which had been slowly dragging him towards the beast's cavernous stomach. He sorely wished that he could use his jetpack to get out of this; but because of Han Solo that was not an option.

He decided that now was another one of those moments where improvisation would come in handy. He held the knife behind his back and dislodged his singular missile from the pack. He quickly grabbed it with his hand and threw it down deeper into the sarlacc's stomach. When it reached the perfect depth, he angled his left arm, turned on his wrist-mounted flamethrower, and ignited the missile. The explosion would not necessarily incapacitate the sarlacc, but it was sufficient to propel him toward the opening, and Boba's exit, of the gaping maw.

The bounty hunter saw the light of the twin suns of Tatooine as he was successfully spewed out of the sarlacc's mouth with such a force that he landed a few dozen meters outside the Great Pit of Carkoon. He was too exhausted to celebrate his new lease on life as he looked around and saw that he was surrounded by the remaining wreckage of Jabba's sail barge. He turned over onto his back and looked at the cloudless sky above. As he slipped out of consciousness, a giant shadow loomed over him.

He slowly opened his heavy eyelids and found himself in complete darkness. He slowly took off his helmet to see, but it did not help much. His brain was throbbing within his skull. His face was a perfect replica of Jango's, with the exception of a scar above his left eyebrow where his helmet had dug into his forehead after taking a shot during his duel with Cad Bane all those years ago. He looked around groggily and only saw old, decrepit droids. He looked down and saw a cylinder attached to his armor above the left breastplate: _a restraining bolt. _He grabbed the bolt and began prying it off.

"Karking Jawas," he muttered to himself as the bolt loosened free from his armor.

He tried lifting himself off the floor, but failed as a sharp pain dug into his rib. After a few moments, a metal door opened with a _swish_, and a pair of jawas entered as they chattered between themselves. Discussing what they were going to do with all the junk they collected from the wreckage. When they saw Boba, they jumped and hid for a few moments, confused as to why a human was aboard their sandcrawler.

"I believe this is yours," Boba said, extending his hand to give them the restraining bolt.

They looked at it for a moment, then shifted their gaze to his armor. It was quite battered and worn, as if something sharp had been scraping at it and a type of acid had been poured on certain parts of it. Boba winced as they pressed hard on his left side to examine the armor further.

_What is with these jawas? _he asked himself. _Surely, they have seen armor before or at least heard of me._

They held up a stun gun to his head and muttered a command in Jawaese. Understanding the command, Boba slowly removed his armor until he was down to his beige bodysuit. Upon examining his ribs, they noticed a few were broken on his right side. Still chattering to themselves they turned and left for several moments. Upon their return, one had a bacta patch in its hands and offered it to the bounty hunter.

"Uh… Thanks," he said, taking the patch and placing it on his side under the bodysuit.

Not knowing what to do with a human aboard, the Jawas get back to work refurbishing the old droids they had found. On the far end of the hold, they began piecing together a GG-class serving droid.

Boba placed his helmet back on his and tuned in to the Holonet news network. He wasn't all too pleased with what he saw: a second Death Star, still under construction, and Han Solo's ship, the Millennium Falcon, flying out of the battle station moments before it's obliterated into millions of pieces.

_Hmmm… That's not good for business. These rebels aren't big fans of bounty hunters. Especially one that was hunting them down himself._

Just then, he felt a sudden lurch as the sandcrawler came to a stop. Boba took off his helmet and noticed that all the droids were gone.

_Tidy little junkers._

Suddenly, the doorway opened again and the two Jawas entered and chattered hastily at Boba, trying to usher him outside. And off their sandcrawler.

I'd b_etter leave this armor behind, _he thought._ Soon the bounty hunters will be the hunted and I can't risk sticking out so soon._

He placed his armor into a box, put his credits and knife in the pockets of his bodysuit, and proceeded to walk through the doorway and down the cargo ramp.

The suns of Tatooine pierced his eyes as they attempt to adjust to the light. He looked out at an all-too-familiar spaceport, _Mos Eisley. _He turned to face the Jawas.

"So… Uh… Thanks for helping me back there. Keep the armor; I have no need for it anymore," he said. He was not accustomed to thanking others, especially for helping him.

The excited Jawas quickly ran back into their home to more closely examine their new prize. Boba looked around as the sandcrawler's ramp was raised out of the sand and closed behind him as the Jawas drove off into the desert.

_I better find some clothes._

Boba walked into the spaceport and purchased a standard farmer's outfit with a tunic that snuggly fit around his lean, muscular frame. He walked through the port and into a place he knew almost too well, Chalmun's Cantina, where sloppy Greedo met his end by Han Solo's blaster. Greedo was always a fool, but to be outgunned by that smuggler was an embarrassment to the bounty hunting business.

He was found an unoccupied booth in the back corner and sat down in its krayt dragon leather seat. It appeared that the deaths of both Jabba and the Emperor did nothing to hinder business. Wuher, the bartender, came up to the table with a slight limp in his step.

"So what do you want, good sir? Jawa juice?" he laughed.

"I've had enough of the stinking Jawas lately. Give me a Yatooni Boska," replied Boba.

Wuher snorted as he walked away to get the drink. He was more ill-tempered than usual. When he returned, Boba slipped him the credits for the drink, and he limped off to his other patrons. As Boba was about to take a sip of the brew, a familiar figure in a turban came walking down the steps and back into Boba's life.

Dengar looked around and saw Wuher talking to a familiar face in a dark booth in the back before limping off to somebody else. He walked over to the nearly empty table and peered down into the man's eyes.

"What do you want, Dengar?" Boba asked with a harshness in his voice that he didn't know if he meant or not.

"Really? Just straight to the point? No 'Hi, Dengar. How are you, today? How has it been now that Jabba's dead?' I'm hurt," Dengar placed his hand on his chest as if his heart were actually hurting. Boba always tired of Dengar quickly.

"What. Do. You. Want?" he repeated. "I've asked twice now, and I won't ask a third time."

Dengar put his hands up in a surrendering motion. "Whoa. Whoa. Calm down. You're awfully high strung for a guy who's supposedly dead," he said, taking a seat next to Boba. "We heard about that… incident… at Jabba's sail barge. And when you didn't return… Well, we figured you had gone with him."

"Almost," Boba said, downing his drink and signaling for another. "That blind idiot, Solo, hit my pack and made it short-circuit on me. I flew right into the barge and then fell into the sarlacc."

Dengar's eyes went wide. He leaned forward and spoke in a near-whisper, "But nobody's escaped a sarlacc before. Jabba's father was rumored to have done so, but if that were true why would he let Jabba keep his throne? Doesn't make any sense to me. You **must **tell me how you did that."

Boba glared at him, and Dengar got the hint. "Some other time, perhaps. Look," he continued. "When Jabba didn't come back, we assumed some other Hutt would come along and take his throne like how Jabba took over for his slimy, old dad. But, none came. Food started to get low, so we cut our losses and started leaving in waves. I waited long as I could, but nobody came. A bounty hunter's got to get paid, after all. When I left, only that pathetic beast master was left, still grieving. He cared way too much for that stupid rancor that Skywalker killed. Anyway, that's why I'm here. I just came from the palace. I'm going to eat and then get myself off this sand-infested rock to find some good, solid work again."

Boba snorted incredulously at that last part and downed his second drink.

"What?" Dengar asked. "Do you not think that I'll find work? I'll have you know that I can do just fine; but I do have to ask, when are you coming back to the guild–**your** guild? We could get you some new armor. We need you to keep us together, now that the Empire is doomed. I'm sure you've heard about that, haven't you?"

"Yes, I saw," he said, signaling at Wuher for a third drink. "And I don't know if I'll be coming back to the guild–to that life–anymore."

Dengar grew upset. "But it's your guild! You started it! Bounty hunting is in your blood, or did you forget where you came from?" he spat.

Boba scrunched his face in anger, a look Dengar had seen on that face since Boba was a child. "I remember where I came from, Dengar. Do I need to remind you who I am?" he said, pulling his knife out and holding it above the table. His face loosened and he sighed as he set the knife down. "Things are changing, Dengar. You think these 'rebels' are going to stand for bounty hunters? I doubt it. We were the ones that even tried hunting them down for Vader. We're going to get marginalized, outlawed even. The guild is done, Dengar. If my father taught me anything it is that you must fight to survive. Sometimes, that means finding a different path than the one you've been going down all along because your current path leads to nothing but your destruction and your death. I'm done with this life, Dengar. What's a bounty hunter when there are more bounties? A mercenary? Nobody would pay for that with these 'rebels' in charge. I'd have to resort to smuggling. There's no fun in that, and the Slave is too recognizable. If you were wise, you would give up this life, too." He downs his last drink.

Dengar's anger subsided and was replaced with a pleading urgency. "But there's a new kid out there. Goes by the name of Mercurial Swift. He's young and talented. A bit reckless, but that can be trained out of him. You know me, I'm not much of a teacher, but you… You could help this kid get bounty hunters keep a permanent placement on the star map. What do you say?"

Boba pondered this for a moment and then abruptly shook his head, "No, Dengar. I won't. I don't care about this kid. I don't train. You either learn on your own or you're dead."

Boba rose from the table, "Don't come looking for me. If I so much as hear that you're in a system within a hundred parsecs of me, I'll come for you, bounty or no."

Without another word from either of them, he turned and walked out of Dengar's life with those two blue eyes staring wide at his back.


End file.
